


Everybody Knows

by ambiguously



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Extra Treat, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-01 16:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16768354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguously/pseuds/ambiguously
Summary: Everybody knows the Princess eloped with her roguish smuggler three days after her discovery that the last Jedi was her long-lost twin.





	Everybody Knows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brotherskywalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brotherskywalker/gifts).



> _Maybe it's a well-known threesome, or maybe it's "Han/Leia with celibate Jedi Luke" to the public but hot threesome in bed every night._

They can't help but be public figures.

Everybody knows Leia Organa has been in the spotlight all her life. Reporters didn't chase her as much as they pursued other Core royalty, not after the incident when she was three and her mother banned them from a kilometer around the palace in all directions. She still remembers multiple occasions of finding out from the news what her birthday presents would be before she opened them. She is only more interesting now: one of the few survivors of Alderaan, one of the leaders of the successful Rebellion, one of the up and coming stars of the new government. She glows, and eyes follow.

Everybody knows Han Solo has the best story for those hungry for a good tale: the poor Corellian orphan, tossed by fate first into the Empire, then to a plucky life of crime, and finally changing his ways to lead the strike force against the second Death Star. Of course the story has a happy ending now that he's married a beautiful Princess. He's had four offers to make holofilms of his life. The money is tempting. Watching his past be stretched and patched into a heroic holo isn't half as tempting.

Luke Skywalker's place in the course of recent events isn't understood as well as Han's or Leia's, and he's done what he can to downplay the rest. They say he defeated the Emperor, and he cannot and will not tell them who did because he would have to tell them why. He still gets questions sprung on him, still finds his face on holoscreens when he answers. He's the last of the Jedi, a strange religious group that everyone has heard of but few knew in life. The news wants to know the last Jedi's opinions on this season's fashions, and today's discussion in the Senate.

Everybody knows the three of them helped secure the Rebellion's victory over the Empire. Everybody knows the Princess eloped with her roguish smuggler three days after her discovery that the last Jedi was her long-lost twin. Everybody knows the young couple and their dear friend share a large apartment in a spire tower, along with a Wookiee and a couple of droids. If that isn't enough company, they're regularly visited by revolving door of old friends who stay for weeks. A few of the bottom-feeding holofeeds insinuate the arrangement is all one large party, and they say "party" because the libel laws are clear on Coruscant: "orgy" would invite a lawsuit. The better class of holoreporters tut at such nonsense because everybody knows Jedi are sworn to a celibate, reflective life.

Celebrity invites curiosity. Leia's work buys security and unbreakable one-way windows that allow in rich beams of sunlight, and act as mirrored surfaces to the world. Drone cams attach to the walls in an attempt to peer inside, and meet only their own electronic eyes.

No one outside can see what happens inside the bright, airy apartment. A few trusted friends understand, and the others who don't and wouldn't all have seen Luke's room at the other end of the hallway, tucked away from Han and Leia's. Their friends are the first to dismiss the "party" rumors. The rest of the rumors melt away after the baby arrives. Even the worst of the holoreporters won't dare the legal trouble they'd be courting over questions about where he came from.

Their visitors leave. The windows shut. The evening candles are lit. The little one is kissed and put to bed. Chewbacca retires to his room, and the droids to their charging stations in the room everybody knows is Luke's. Then the public masks come off, dropping to the carpet like leaves, and nothing is between the three of them: not the press, not the past, not the pretense they keep up day by day. No ghost nor guest disturbs the tumbling, fumbling, laughing kisses as they make their way to their bedroom, arguing with amused glances and dirty tricks over who's sleeping in the middle tonight, held with two sets of loving arms to cuddle away the bad dreams.

Everybody knows this can't work, can't last, should never happen.

Which is why nobody ever has to know.


End file.
